Her nerves didn't set in until the train was well on its way, barreling through the plains towards the rising sun and carrying with it all the hopes and dreams of the past three years. Emma still couldn't reconcile Gillian's fears with the illusion of her brother that she held so dear. The Richard of her memory was shy, gentle, and full of love—nevermind that she hadn't seen that side of him since before the war. She simply refused to accept that he could be gone forever.
In hindsight, the worst part hadn't even been his leaving. A part of her could understand his need for space—he had experienced something in the war that had left him profoundly altered, separating him irrevocably from her. They had spent their entire lives as each other's entire worlds. There were no other children their age in Plover, and anyway their parents wouldn't have dreamed of allowing them to socialize when there was work to be done. For as long as she could remember, all they had in the world was each other. She supposed, looking back, that she had taken it for granted that it would always be that way.
No, the worst part had not been him leaving; it was being left alone. Ma and Pa were both in the ground before he even made it back from France; Dusty, their loyal old hound, had run off one day and never returned (she always secretly pretended that he gone to look for Richard). By 1920, she had been left with no one, and no one to understand the storm of complex emotions that Richard had left in his wake. He was so much more than a brother—he was half of her soul. He was a part of her, and he was gone.
She ordered a stale cup of coffee from the cart and settled into her seat, gazing at the moonlit scenery as she sipped the burnt blackness and willed herself not to be afraid. She had always dreamed of travel; as children, she had regaled Richard with stories of far off lands that she had only read of in books. Richard would sit in awe, listening intently to her tales, but he had been content to keep their subjects at arm's reach and remain in the safety of their farmhouse until the end of time. It was ironic how their roles had reversed in adulthood.
She could just see him, his face still handsome behind that silly mask, a bright smile spreading across his weakened lips at the sight of her. She would take his hand, like she had so many times before, and lead him all the way back to Plover. They would never need to part again, as close as they had been in the fields and forests of home. There was no need to plan further; there was no doubt in her mind that it would come to fruition.
The Midwest swept by her in a blur of wheat fields and stars, and she barely noticed the droop of her eyelids as she let herself sink into a warm memory of her beloved brother, in a forest clearing with her hands on his and his hands on a rifle, and let the building excitement at the thought of their long-anticipated reunion carry her off into dreamland.
The Artemis Club turned out to be a large Queen Anne Victorian, its porch and windows framed by ornate rounded archways that reminded Emma distinctly of a dollhouse, albeit none that she had ever owned (Ma and Pa Harrow never placed much stock in toys). The site of it would have filled her with pride for her brother's success, if not for the policemen milling about. She pulled Gillian's letter from her handbag, double-checking the address. This indeed was the place.
She approached a bored-looking cop, standing guard over the perimeter. "Excuse me, officer," she began, but he held up a warning hand to her face.
"Stay back, ma'am. This is a crime scene."
"But I'm supposed to meet my brother—"
"Your brother sure as hell ain't here, sweetheart."
"What about—" She glanced at the letter. "Gillian Darmody? She's the proprietor."
"Listen, there's nobody here."
A few more cops filtered out of the open front doors, and she strained as inconspicuously as she could to peek inside. "What happened, if you don't mind me asking?"
"You tell me. We found about twenty bodies in there a few days ago."
Emma's hand flew to her mouth. "Oh my," she gasped.
The officer turned his head as another beckoned him to the porch. "Excuse me, ma'am," he said with a nod.
"Thank you for your assistance," she called after him. She stared at the house for a moment, searching for a clue as to where to turn next. Here she stood, in unfamiliar surroundings, the plans she had formulated on her long journey dashed in one fell swoop.
How she found the boardwalk, she couldn't be sure, though from the sheer size of it she supposed that all roads must have led here. She had simply let her feet take her towards the easterly sun, from whence it climbed ever higher into the sky, until she found herself atop a bluff overlooking the sea. The boardwalk spread before her like the ribbon stretched around a beautifully wrapped gift, existing in that moment just for her.
She had never seen anything like it. The criss-crossing planks of its surface bustled with summer crowds, the lights glittering even in the bright mid-morning light. Gleeful shouts and the sparkling laughter of children mingled with the calls of the gulls overhead and the crashing of the sea against the shore. The scent of salt water and popcorn and cotton candy filled her nostrils, and suddenly she was an excited little girl, transported to a dreamland of fun and frivolity. She had to physically restrain herself from running to join the throng.
With the creaking of the wooden boards underfoot, she began to lose herself in the flock of tourists milling around her. She bought an ice cream cone, licking its sticky sweetness with innocent delight as she made her way past the shops and restaurants. Though she felt out of place in her old handmade dress, she could nevertheless feel her mouth breaking into a smile, and suddenly she was overwhelmed with happiness knowing that, of all of the places in the world, her brother might have ended up in one that held such joy.
She had to steady herself suddenly as a small object collided with her legs; she turned to find a young boy, no more than six years of age, with rosy cheeks and dark, serious eyes, studying her face intently. He reminded her of a young Richard, and she was immediately taken with him.
"Tommy!" a voice called from behind the boy. A young blonde woman trotted up, scooping the boy's hand into her own. "I thought we talked about this. You can't go running off like that." She turned to Emma, her pale blue eyes apologetic. "I'm sorry about that."
"It's no bother," Emma answered kindly. "Your son is adorable. Is he all right?"
"He's not my son, but I'm sure he's fine. He's been through worse than running into a stranger on the boardwalk." She extended a confident hand. "I'm Julia."
"Emma. Nice to meet you." The ladies shook hands; Julia studied Emma's face with an odd mix of curiosity and vague recognition, then shook herself back to the present. "He reminds me of my brother."
"Mine too. Listen, let me at least buy you a cup of coffee or something. I saw how hard he hit you."
"It's really nothing. It was an accident." She began to turn to go, but the idea of having a friend with whom to share this new experience was too much for Emma to pass up for the sake of manners. "A cup of coffee does sound lovely, though."
The corners of Julia's lips turned up in a smile. "Good. I could use some company who's not six years old."
"You're in luck, then," Emma smiled. "I turned seven last week."
In all of her days, Julia had only felt such an immediate connection to one other person. Emma was bright and talkative; there wasn't a moment of silence between them from the moment she had accepted Julia's invitation. It had been ages since she had been able to speak so freely—even Richard had been difficult to engage at times, and she had always assumed that speaking in and of itself was a chore for him. But Emma proved an easy conversationalist, describing her life in the country with such passion and clarity that she could almost smell the ripening corn. For her part, Julia talked about Tommy, leaving out the part where his warden had shown up on her doorstep in the dead of night, covered in blood.
"So Emma," she said, sipping her coffee and changing the subject, "What brings you all the way out here?"
"I'm looking for someone, but I don't really know where to start."
"You picked a wrong time to be looking for someone here. It's tourist season."
"I was starting to realize that. Still," she sighed, a far off look in her eyes, "it's not a bad place to be stuck in for a time."
"Try being stuck here for 24 years." She rolled her eyes, suddenly jealous of Emma's bright-eyed optimism. Though the boardwalk had once been magical to her, the realities of life had long since faded its sparkle.
"Trust me, anything feels like a prison after a while. You're only in trouble when you stop trying to escape."
Before she knew it, they had lost track of time and Tommy was tugging on her sleeve. "Julia," he said with his signature sweetness, "I wanna go home."
"I suppose it is getting late. Hey, listen." She turned to Emma, imploringly. "Do you like pot roast? I always make too much, and if you don't have plans for dinner—"
"I love pot roast." Her new friend said enthusiastic, a broad smile spreading across her face.